Epic, Man
by Penelope Wendy Bing
Summary: Everyone watches the Games. Everyone absorbs the grief and thrill of the slaughter. Well, almost everyone. Written for the Starvation monthly one-shot challenge, "Epic". T for strong language, substance abuse, and crude comments.


"Whoa, man. This is... this is just... whoa, man!" Aquilla crowed. Aurelius nodded absently, his eyes fixed on the screen. His mouth hung slightly open. Most of the people in Panem were either sitting with their mouths hanging open or with their fists clenched. This was it, then. The Career boy chased Ruth Swanson of District 7. It was the end, one way or the other. He was stronger, definitely, but Ruth seemed to have inherited some of the brutal slyness of her mentor, Johanna Mason. Most of the viewers sat, holding onto the desperate hope that she could pull a life-saving strategy out of her sharp mind.

Most of those who didn't sit in fear or stunned rapture sat on their couches, hoping cruelly that Seiche Rookwood of District 4 would catch and kill her, even more brutally than he had her District partner only minutes before.

In the Swanson home, neither of these was true.

Mrs. Swanson swung herself at the screen, screaming her daughter's name. Her little girl, only fifteen, with a monster on her heels and Mrs. Swanson unable to help. There was no keener torture for a mother. The woman almost forgot, in her crazed desperation, that the scene was only an image on a screen. She wanted to reach into the television and pluck her daughter right out. At the time, it made sense.

The only thing that held her back was her husband. Always the rock of the family, he had wrapped his arms around her waist and now held her firmly in place. No matter how horrible it was, he was resolved to see what happened to his daughter. He had no doubt that his wife would smash the TV if she were granted access to it. He didn't blame her.

"Ruth! Ruth!" she screamed, writhing rabidly in his arms. She twisted wildly, clawing at his face in her desperation to escape and somehow, _somehow_, reach her daughter. He grimaced and pulled away, trying to escape her sharp fingernails.

"Tui!" He growled, "Stop it! It's not going to help!"

As his parents shrieked and fought, Duramen coiled himself smaller and smaller on the ratty couch, trying to bury himself in his sister's arms and disappear for good. _He's too young,_ is all she could think. _He's too young to watch his sister die. Seven is just too young. _It never occurred to her that twelve was too young as well, because she didn't feel young. She would never feel young again. That youth had been ripped from her as it had been from every "child" ever to watch the Games. Unfortunately for Yewzie, she had it ripped away from her far more painfully than most children will ever be able to understand.

Duramen buried his head in her shoulder with a whimper as Ruth's foot caught on a root. She stumbled and flailed to keep her balance, but did not fall. Hearing Ruth recover her footing, Duramen began to pull his head out of the crook of his sister's neck, but Yewzie held his face against her shirt.

"Don't look. Just don't watch," she ordered. If Ruth managed to pull a miraculous win, Duramen would see her at the interviews and when she returned home. If not, Yewzie would not have him watch their older sister be dismembered.

However, in the Rookwood household, anyone attempting to look away from the screen would have been beaten.

Seiche's one sister sat, arms folded on the couch. Caravel had always been the less-loved child, the un-favorite. Despite being twenty, she had never seen the inside of an arena. She had never qualified to go, despite years of expensive training. Caravel sat on the couch, fiddling with a long string of her brown hair. She scowled. It seemed like the entire family had packed themselves into her house to see her oaf of a brother commit his final murder. She wasn't far off. The extended family was undoubtedly there en masse, with aunts, uncles, and cousins crowded into the plain living room. Her parents sat to her left, with her maternal grandparents to her right. Her father's parents were long since dead, and so they managed to fit most of Seiche's immediate family onto the couch. Although goodness only knows why they felt the need to sit Grandma Lephner on the sofa, since she was stone blind.

Caravel could feel the whole room leaning closer and closer as Seiche closed in on the District 7 waif. Some of them wanted him to come home. Most of them were just wondering why he'd sliced out the District 7 boy's innards after killing him. Caravel was feeling only a fierce, cold desire to see Ruth Swanson kill Seiche, slowly and painfully.

Nobody liked talking about the problems in Career families. Well, no Career families liked admitting their problems. But whether or not they liked to admit it, there were downsides to nursing children on a diet of blood and hate. The only things they learned were blood and hate. So, after all these years of feeling inferior to her brother, all Caravel knew was hate. To complete her training, she desperately wanted his blood.

Her parents gripped each other's hands. Her mother was shaking violently. Caravel almost rolled her eyes. _Really_. After years of training them to kill and rage, after teaching them they had no worth unless they were Victors, she still thought she loved her children. But Caravel hadn't bought into it. Her mother didn't love her. Her mother didn't even know what love was.

Aurelius took another hit of... whatever it was Aquilla had given him. She was better at rooting out the high quality stuff, of making sure the dealers weren't selling them a fake or inferior product. If Aquilla said this was good stuff, he knew he could trust her tastes. All he had to do was chip in half the money and sometimes intimidate the dealer and he'd have a great high. He knew that. After all, why else would he and Aquilla have banded together? It wasn't like she was hot, or anything. _She wouldn't be much of a lay_, he'd thought to himself often enough. Plus, she thought he was an idiot. She was a drug connoisseur; he was just looking to have fun. He liked her good, high quality stuff, but she didn't feel he really appreciated it enough. No, they'd just banded together in their quest for an awesome high. And, strangely enough, they were closer than a lot of Capitol friends. At least _they_ had something in common.

The light from the TV washed over their drawn faces. It was either funny or pathetic that they had managed to drink and drug up so much that, even with the Capitol's advanced plastic surgery, they looked more withered and grotesque than any person their age in the Districts. Their pale skin hung loosely on their frames. Bony fingers lifted another snort of the drugs to their surgically misshapen noses. Yellow eyes gazed at the television and tongues ran over similarly yellow teeth. They swayed in the seats, cooing with awe as Seiche Rookwood's fingers closed onto Ruth's collar.

"_No!_" Mrs. Swanson screeched. Finally, she fell limp in her husband's arms, as the brutal Career boy yanked her oldest child backwards off her feet, slamming her thin frame against the forest floor. Tui shook in her husband's arms, head lolling like that of a woman whose neck has been snapped clean in two. Inhuman keening spilled from her lips, although it almost would have been hard to tell what she was keening about. Her eyes rolled around the room, looking at everything but the television screen where her daughter was trying in vain to scramble up and run, only to be smashed in the side of the head with a heavy fist and sent sprawling again. Ruth moaned in pain, stumbling again to her knees, and Seiche's foot battered against her ribs. Once to knock her back down. Twice to roll her over. A third time for good measure.

"Don't look, don't look, don't look, don't look," murmured a young girl in District 7 as her little brother struggled to raise his head.

"L- look! Red…" Aquilla moaned, her hands trembling as she raised them. The close up shot of the intestines in Seiche Rookwood's hands certainly bathed the room in a pinkish glow. Yet Aquilla turned away from the TV, grasping after butterflies or balloons or some other ghosts that only existed in her drug-hazed mind.

The red on Seiche's hands was of no interest to her. After all, what red was that? Only the blood of a District 7 boy. What significance was a child of the Districts to her? Of no significance. They were animals to be slaughtered, and once that had been done, they were of no use. Her hallucinations were of more consequence to her than his death, or the impending death of Ruth Swanson.

Aurelius' eyes still lingered on the television, mouth hanging open, as Aquilla stumbled around the room. He looked at nothing as she tried to climb the walls, singing vacantly about a beautiful shade of red.

The red of blood blared not only out of Aquilla and Aurelius' TV, but into the tightly-packed Swanson home. Caravel felt her lips pull back in a lupine snarl. Her muscles tensed in the way that meant her well-conditioned body was warming itself up for a fight. But Caravel Rookwood would not get a fight. It was her lot to sit back and watch her _brother dearest _win the Hunger Games.

And win he would, she knew. The Swanson girl had given in. Normally, that would have been the sensible thing for her to do, Caravel mused, but Ruth seemed to have forgotten whom she was fighting. This was not a merciful boy of 3 or 5 or 10; this was a Career. Where most children would have ended things quickly, easily, for you once you gave in, for a boy as vicious as Seiche it was nothing but an invitation. If she had wanted a quick death, she should have presented herself as a viable threat to his life. Oh well, too late now.

Seiche fell to his knees, pinning the young girl's arms to the ground. Ruth screamed in pain, legs thrashing. Caravel's brother only laughed at her, tongue slipping over his teeth. Caravel could see the wild glint in his eyes, the one that meant adrenaline was pulsing through his brain, the one that meant he was anticipating enjoyment of a particularly brutal death.

Caravel smoothed her skirt. Well. It was time, then.

Seiche's hand slid over the District 7 girl's face. His wide grin was terrifying, the un-smile of a devil come straight out of Hell. Ruth whimpered slightly. Caravel was impressed, actually. Better women than Ruth Swanson appeared to be had crumpled in the face of that un-smile. If she could stand almost resolute as it shone down on her, she was a braver soul than she seemed.

Caravel watched, brooding, as her brother leaned forward. He murmured something into Ruth's ear, something the microphones didn't pick up, and then clamped his teeth ever so slowly on her ear. With a sharp yank, he ripped Ruth's ear off.

Even Ruth's scream of pain was not enough to draw Aquilla back to the television. Indeed, she was no longer even in the room, trying her best to beat down the door that she and Aurelius had set to stay locked until tomorrow morning, for fear they might wander out and into the streets and get themselves run over.

Aurelius felt the slow crawl of warmth beneath his skin and smiled crookedly. Oh, yeah. This was the good part, the slow euphoria that was subtly unlike any high he'd ever had. He was sure Aquilla would know what to call it, would be able to describe all of its nuances in detail. He, frankly, was glad she was too stoned to tell him. He didn't care. All he was really thinking was, _Damn, this stuff is good. I'll have to ask Quill where she got it_…

The sensation peaked, hanging in his mind like a choir's high note, sung soft and clear. Then it began to decline. He frowned. This was the part he wasn't so fond of. That special feeling didn't stay for very long, and he hadn't had enough of it yet. Aurelius reached for another small packet of the purple powder and snorted it.

Wait for a minute… Wait for a minute… Grin slowly… There. Much better.

And another bag.

And another.

As somewhere in the Capitol Aurelius took hit after hit of the drugs, the Swanson family watched Ruth take hit after hit from the brutal District 4 Career. Stripped of her ears, eyes, and fingers, she looked more like someone's grotesque imitation of Ruth than their daughter and sister. It didn't help that her face was coated with blood and other foul liquids that some of the younger children in Panem had never even seen before.

Mr. Swanson lowered his sobbing wife to the ground. Suddenly, she refused to be released. She scratched desperately at his arms, trying to claw her way back into his embrace. "Pol, Pol, Pol!" She moaned. "Oh, Pol! _Ruthie!_"

He knelt on the ground and held her, rocking gently back and forth. His resolve to watch Ruth's demise through to the end failed, and Pol Swanson dropped his eyes. He felt ashamed to look away as his daughter died, but he knew he wasn't strong enough to watch.

"Lemme go, Yewzie! Lemme go!" Duramen screamed. His older sister kept her grim grip around his head, fingers tangling into his fluffy light-brown hair. "Ruth! I hafta- let me go!"

"Don't look, Duramen," she growled. "Don't watch it!"

Yewzie kept her firm grip on her little brother's head, even as his small fists battered her face and stomach. She clutched him stoically, still staring at the television screen. With her father and mother collapsed together on the floor and Duramen forcibly restrained from turning his head, Yewzie was the only one who saw Seiche wrap Ruth's District partner's intestines around her big sister's neck.

Aurelius' head spun. Man, this was euphoria if he'd ever felt it. Apparently, money _could _buy happiness. Go figure.

He pawed for another packet to snort, but his fingers merely scrambled along the table's bare wooden surface. _Huh, _he thought, _that's funny. But- wait. Bare?_

Aurelius frowned, leaning in closer to the table. His vision was acting kind of funny, really blurry and wiggly, but it didn't take him long to figure out that the drugs were gone. "A- Aquilla?" he mumbled. "Where's th' stuff? Don't we… got any more? There was just some here a second ago, weren't there? Where'd i' all go to?"

But Aquilla didn't answer; she was talking to someone else, someone only inside her head, as she climbed into a hot bath with all her clothes on. Possibly she had been instructed to do that by her hallucination. Possibly she can up with that brilliant idea on her own. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Aurelius was on his own to find the rest of the drugs, not realizing he'd already used up their whole supply.

He half climbed, half fell from the couch. He swept his hands back and forth under the table, hoping the "rest" of the packets had simply fallen off, and then rolled or been kicked underneath. No luck. Time to call in the brains of the operation, then. "Q- Quill! Aquilla!" He moaned, trying to stumble to his feet. He eventually gave up on standing and began a wavering crawl to the bathroom.

While no one in Aurelius' apartment was watching the death of Ruth Swanson, everyone in the Rookwood's living room was. It was a nice scene, Caravel had to admit. Her brother was twisting the District 7 boy's guts around Ruth's neck. The combined tie and the force of his huge hands were already smothering the deformed girl. She thrashed, but it seemed less like a true attempt to throw him off, and more an involuntary reaction to the pain of her death.

Eventually her protests, if they were such, slowed. She shuddered once and her cannon sounded. Cheers erupted around Caravel. Family clapped her on the shoulder, too caught up in their own excitement to notice that Caravel was glowering at the television. Nobody paid her much attention, as usual.

Back to business, then. She stood and coldly walked out the front door. What did her family's celebration matter to her? She wasn't one of them, and she never would be.

Aurelius, meanwhile, was ignorant of the Game's finale. Instead, he was trying to lift himself over the rim of his large bathtub to get to Aquilla. "Hey!" he bellowed. "Hey, Aquilla! Where'd they go?"

"No, thank you. I don't eat meat," she trilled, hands grasping for something in the air. "Although, that is a most lovely hat! Forever and ever and ever- red! I'm so happy to see you!" Aquilla's hands stayed in front of her, even as she struggled through the bathtub's deeper end. The tub was really more of a small pool, and the far end came up to Aurelius' shoulders. So Aquilla, being much shorter and smaller, was veritably swimming in his tub. The person in her mind also seemed to have holed themselves up in the far corner, so Aquilla was left struggling to keep her head above water without her arms.

Aurelius' head swam as he clutched the slick wall of the tub. He called her name one more time before giving up. He'd have to go get her. He gripped the edge of the tub and fought toward her, his dizziness and weakness making it ridiculously hard to walk deeper into the tub. Eventually, he managed to catch her wrist and yank her back. Aquilla shrieked with incongruous laughter before beginning her struggle toward the corner again. Aurelius wrapped on thick arm around her waist and pulled her back.

"Hey! Where's the stuff?"

"-and I just couldn't believe what she said about me! No manners, no manners at all. But you try telling _her _that; the woman is-"

Aurelius growled. The euphoria from the drugs was fading and he was left upset by its departure. Upset and disoriented, which was not a pleasant experience. He spun her around and shook her. Aquilla's eyes remained full of manic glee and unfocused, as she babbled on about unrelated topics to people Aurelius couldn't see. He shook her, trying to get her attention. She didn't stop. He shook her again and again, more and more violently, until he shook her head right into the hard ceramic edge of the tub. Aquilla's chatter stopped immediately, and her eyes glazed over.

"Oh. Oh, man. Oh, shit. Shit," he mumbled. "Oh, man. I shouldn't 'a done that…"

Aurelius wrapped one arm around Aquilla and the other on the rim of the tub, not in any state to notice that her nose and mouth were both underwater. He began laboring back to the steps on the other side. Normally he would have just climbed over the side and onto the tile floor, but he barely had the strength to keep himself standing.

His vision was going black. He couldn't hold a coherent thought beyond getting out of the tub. Eventually even Aquilla slipped through the cracks in his drugged-up mind, and he released his hold on her body, leaving her to float face down in the tub. He struggled up the stairs and onto the floor before collapsing, as the world shut down in front of him.

"Man. This… this is some good stuff," he muttered. "This is good. This is great. This is epic. This is shiny. This is…"

The coroner listed Aquilla's cause of death as drowning, and Aurelius' as drug overdose. No one really paid much attention. After all, of what significance were two kids who killed themselves at a party? Little to none. Then again, what significance was anybody to a person in the Capitol? Little to none. No one cared how two twenty-year-olds drugged themselves to death. No one cared how Ruth Swanson was slaughtered in entertainment's name. No one cared when Seiche Rookwood killed his older sister in a drunken rage, or when Tui Swanson went insane with grief. No one mourned. After all, of what relative importance were they? Little to none. Who was interested in other's problems and pains? No one. Besides, there was a new episode of a popular sitcom airing that night.

And it would be epic.


End file.
